


Daydream in Oceanview

by telefool



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking to Cope, Eye Contact, M/M, Navel-Gazing, Secret Relationship, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 01:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telefool/pseuds/telefool
Summary: Whiskey tastes better alone, but Darling won't have that.





	Daydream in Oceanview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hokkaido_Ito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokkaido_Ito/gifts).

> Wrote this for my gorgeous wife, who was shipping adorably this evening in front of our tv. Yes, we poked it, before turning it on.

If they go separately, sometimes he can’t find him. Darling knows he  _ goes _ . Knows they each need this as much as the other, as much as they need to feed their other hungers, to check the balances this place puts on them. 

Knows that if he brings the whiskey, Zach will come.

But sometimes when he goes ahead, the motel is an empty place- none of the thick smoke smell that hangs crystallized in the air when the Motel is feeling… active. He’ll ring the bell, and search the rooms, leave with nothing more than he came with. Maybe an emptiness larger than before, so he comes back with a greater negative. Just like the Director to give him an impossible, unwanted thing.

That’s really the only thing Zach ever put in his lap. Impossible, unwanted things, to tame and break, to loose and control.

It just gives Casper an excuse to hunt him down. Hands dug deep into his coat pockets, winding his way through dangerous halls- everyone here is a statistic, no insurance against the very deadly unknowable future. Finds the Director wrapped in smoke, wreathed in thoughts. Finds Zach’s pinched gaze behind his glasses, nothing like Casper’s and wide enough at the side, that when they kiss, the arms of their frames rub together noisy like the legs of a cricket.

When they hold the cord together, they must pull at the same time. Zachariah never really looks at him when they do it, but Casper can’t not. His fingers tight on the cord just below, staring at the Director’s profile, just as he had at a dozen Board meetings, and lectures. He often wondered what would happen if they didn’t pull at the same time? They’d never tried, impulse and instinct having always tied them together best, and if it worked, then no reason to look further.

But what if he didn’t pull at the same time? Close enough their hands touched. Close enough their clothes brushed. Would it meld them together like The Thing, or would it reassemble them like The Fly? Or worse yet, some awful amalgam of the two, because of these haunting obsessive thoughts of his? What if, worst of all, if  _ before _ it would have been fine, but  _ now _ , thanks to his recurring thoughts, if he missed by even a  _ fraction _ of a  _ second _ , he’d be-

Zachariah never looks. He just pulls.

The lobby is the same most of the time, different sometimes. The two plastic cups they drink from are normally found wrapped in sterile plastic, on the table, regenerated as is the soap, and shampoo, and other amenities. Twice, he has to go and get them from a cart left in the hallway, obviously intended for staff use in cleaning the rooms. Once, they have to resort to small styrofoam cups found under the counter for the coffee pot in the lobby. 

Luckily, neither of them mind the whiskey a little warm.

Casper isn’t sure Zach would do this, sober. An experiment he hasn’t tried. Maybe for fear of its chance of positive outcome…

...maybe Casper can’t do this sober either.

A little warm though from the liquor, it’s easy, so he unbuttons his coat. Zach watches him do it, watches him get comfortable, start to feel safe. Swirls the amber in his little cup, inhales what’s worst for him, and breathes it out like a fucking engine. 

Casper loses the tie too, bow undone with lazy fingers.

“Darling.” Zach says, and he hates the part of him that always feels a little drunk from that. The sound of his name, that silly epithet spoken tens of times a day, with direct professionality.

Here, Zach says it like he  _ means _ it.

Casper starts on the buttons of his vest, warm so the extra chill other dimensions seem to bring to the House, doesn't affect his focus. Here, under the sun of a desert that doesn’t exist, subpar vintage air conditioning blowing wetly, it’s too much. That, or he’s drunk.

He’s drunk to further the illusion that him taking it off has anything to do with temperature and not heat. Slips the vest from his shoulders, and raises his hands to his collar. Unbuttons the first button, and feels the fabric relax from his neck. Unbuttons a second button-

“ _ Darling _ .” Zach says again, but somehow more, and Casper wants to kiss him, but it’s too early for that. Settles for popping a third button before letting his hand fall to his lap. Controls himself.

Takes another sip, and lets the sour taste bleach his teeth, wash the rot out. Kill the mold. 

It’s always day at the motel, even when you stay the night. They’ve never slept, never tried, not even with their bodies sore and shaken, Casper’s too fucking old to be on his back, not even with sweat finally cooling the heat of the motel. But sometimes he wonders, what happens if you dream, inside of a dream? How long is a nap, in a place that’s eternal? 

It does mean that Zachariah can’t hide from him, behind smoke and shadows, the way he does the rest of the time, his existence his mask. Casper can watch him while he drinks his expensive, awful whiskey. Watches him ease out of his suit jacket like he’s taking off armor, pressing it onto the arm of the chair. Watches him hook a finger in the press of his tie and pull. Hanging himself to get free.

When he finally undoes the knot, the two halves of his tie hang along him for a moment, giving Casper an excuse to let his eyes wander the length of him. It pulls free with a _hisssssss_ from around his neck, coils on the floor beside him.

His turn for a button, and Casper tosses the rest of his whiskey back, swish and swallow. Have to take your medicine, like everyone else, or else risk the consequences. He stands, and crosses the small distance between them. Travels worlds, just to bend in close, and slide Zach’s glasses down the length of his nose. 

Sometimes, Casper likes it better when they kiss  _ without _ their glasses.

Zachariah looks like more, and less. Impossible and so wanted to have him here, his eyes bigger than they seemed, his nose more noble than imposing, with a small shiny patch where the metal frames rubbed, just to either side. He looked a little tired, and a little drunk, and Casper kissed him like this, eyes open just once so he could see it all.

What a stupid profession he’d chosen, to not like secrets in.

Kept kissing him as he let his hands wander to those buttons, and repeated his steps, the scientific method at work. The first button. The second button. The third button, and Zach’s hand comes up to catch his own, and for a second the terrible fear that fills him when they’re about to pull the cord strikes him and Casper freezes, certain if he moves imprecisely, he’ll die.

“Darling…” Zach breathes, lips soft on the word, and oh, when he says it like that, it doesn’t feel like his name, it feels like a kiss. Rough from feeling, and all the more tender for it. “ _ Please _ .”

One always follows the Director’s orders.


End file.
